


Ideal Mate

by Eleavir



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Brothers America & Canada (Hetalia), Historical References, M/M, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-08 05:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21470752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eleavir/pseuds/Eleavir
Summary: In which Alfred is possessive and manipulative, and Matthew passive-aggressive. At the end of the day, they still love each other very much.
Relationships: America/Canada (Hetalia)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I’m writing a Canada Day fic in November. Yay me.
> 
> This is not your typical fluffy celebratory Canada Day fic. This I can promise. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters whatsoever.

“Your turn to enlighten us with the truth, America.” Lars said after a long draw of his pale ale, “Describe to us your ideal mate. Significant Other. Partner-in-Crime. Whatever you Americans call it these days.”

“Never thought of it,” said Alfred, lazily nursing a lager.

“How so?” Ludwig gave an inquisitive glance from a glass of stout.

Alfred shrugged. “It’s a moot point, don’t you think? We don’t have the luxury of submitting ourselves into long-term relationships. No one can be exclusive to anyone, Nation or otherwise. So why bother with a definition when it’s all circumstantial? I mean, _you_ would know, being older Nations and whatnot.” He grinned, looking pointedly at the Dutch and the German. Ludwig was suddenly mesmerized by the dark beer before him, and Lars looked away.

At this point, the fourth Nation at the table decided to join the conversation. “Ok, but for the sake of this stupid card game, pretend that you can.” Belle said in her usually relaxed voice, “Be a good sport, will you?”

Alfred narrowed his eyes at the busty female Nation. “If you insist,” he drawled, doing his best to look contemplative. He even looked up at the sky for good measure.

The answer came to him easily. It rested on the tip of his tongue, and Alfred flashed his most sincere smile. “Nope, still drawing a blank. Anyone wants to volunteer? Help a bro out?”

Belle emptied the Witbier she was holding, already losing interest in the topic. “Change the question then.” She suggested to her brother. She flew all the way from Belgium to Portland, USA for the International Beer Festival. She was determined to enjoy herself. What Alfred decided to keep to himself was none of her concern.

Alfred was more than agreeable and promptly offered to get the next round of beer for everyone at the table. Lars happily accepted the bribe and asked about some Hollywood gossips instead, to which Alfred eagerly supplied with too much information.

Matthew glanced over at the party of four across the beer garden when they grew more and more rambunctious. He had little interest in joining them, nursing a beer or two by himself and enjoying the silence. Alfred had sent him an invitation to the Portland International Beer Festival earlier this year, but that was not why he was here. There were quite a few Canadian breweries joining the venue this year and Matthew came along to show support (and to have some good time).

Same as previous years, the American, German and Belgian breweries took up the majority of booths, but he also spotted a handful of French, British, Japanese and Dutch breweries. Earlier in the day, Arthur had come by to say hi but soon lost his self among the beer booths. Kiku had struck up a brief yet most courteous conversation with him and retired from the event early on. François, more invested in wine himself, had only reluctantly showed up past mid-day and already looking bored.

“Enjoying les boissons, mon cher?”

“They are fine, I suppose.” Not an expert on beer or any type of beverages, Matthew answered carefully.

“Quelquefois, it is not about the drink, but whom you drink with.” A wink, “Speaking of, your National Day is coming soon. In three days, je crois? Are you going to spend it with someone?”

Matthew was grateful that François remembered his official birthday. Arthur didn’t mention a word—but that was to be expected. No hurt feelings, really.

“No plans yet.” Matthew responded earnestly, “My government has prepared some memo, I’m sure. Probably the usual: parades, celebrations, fireworks and—“

Matthew trailed off as he realized François’ attention had been drawn to an attractive lady passing by.

“C’est bien. Now, if you excusez-moi.” Finally, something more interesting than beers, the French Nation was swift to make a move.

“Of course. Don’t mind me. I will just be here nursing my beer.”

The lager he was holding for a while had grown bitter. Probably went stale. Matthew put the glass down, sighing internally, and got almost knocked over by an unexpected heavy smack to his back.

“Hey buddy! Whatcha brooding about?” Came his brother’s overly enthusiastic voice. “Not having enough beers to wash away whatever’s on your mind?”

Matthew straightened up, giving Alfred a sidelong glance, whom at this point already looked a bit intoxicated. He was grinning ear to ear, cheeks tinged with pink, and got his pint glass refilled to the brim.

“I’m afraid I’ve already fulfilled today’s alcohol consumption quota.” Matthew deadpanned.

“You have a quota?” Alfred looked perplexed. “Don’t be lame, bro. It’s a three-day festival and we merely started! Look, I got plans for us. You gotta stay at my house so we can do some shit together. We can drink all night—scratch that. Let’s drink all week, from today to July the Fourth! Wouldn’t that be something.”

Alfred laughed and belched loudly, seemingly quite pleased with himself for coming up with such a brilliant idea. His one arm tossed over Matthew’s shoulder, giving the Canadian a tight squeeze.

“So whatcha say, Canada?” Another playful squeeze, “Are we on or are we on?”

Matthew had not heard of a Nation ever got alcohol poisoning due to excessive drinking, but he was not in the mood to find out. Alfred’s suggestion was as appealing as watching paint dry. And did he just blatantly ignore the fact that Canada Day was only three days away and yet he expected Matthew to ditch his people and get wasted in Alfred’s place? Nope, not gonna happen.

“Sorry,” Matthew quickly said, while trying to discreetly shrug off the constraining arm, “Got a plan for the next few days. I’ll be heading somewhere.”

“Somewhere.” Alfred echoed as he looked into Matthew’s eyes. Piercing blues behind the glasses suddenly seemed quite sober.

“Y-yeah. It was all predetermined. Been on my agenda for a while, really.”

“And with company, I presume?”

“You presumed correctly.”

It would sound weak and pathetic if Matthew were to admit his (half-baked, impromptus) plan was to go to his cabin up north by himself and watch the ice bergs float by. Alfred didn’t have to know these details.

His brother was gazing at him intently, completely devoid of the earlier “obnoxious drunken American” facade. His beer was left aside, forgotten.

“Well, Mattie, you sure know how to break my heart.”

Matthew was half surprised by the random use of his personal name in public and half confused by the unfounded accusation. For one thing, his brother didn’t even pretend to look sad. It’d been decades since Alfred last sported his infamous “kicked-puppy” look to his advantage. None since he became a Super Power, anyway. And if Matthew were to be honest, he would describe Alfred’s current countenance as more akin to a kid about to throw a temper tantrum in the supermarket because he was denied his favourite candy.

“Like I said, I got plans for us, just you and me. You got time and I got a place to chill. Think of the fun we can have together! It’s gonna be an awesome week leading to my B-Day and I want you to be part of it. So how ‘bout you ditch that plan of yours and join with me?”

The hand on his shoulder clawed much harder this time, almost eliciting a yelp from Matthew. The Canadian bit down his bottom lip and silently pried open the offending fingers, using a force he seldom displayed in front of the others.

“I’m sorry,” he said firmly, before turning to leave, “But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”


	2. Chapter 2

It was the last day of June and Matthew had already spent a day and a half holing up in his cabin on the northern shore of the Great Bear Lake in the Northwest Territories. The closest human settlement, the Charter Community of Délįne, was located southwest of the lake. This was a secluded spot he himself handpicked, far away from civilizations, good for reminiscence and self-reflection. He had made arrangements with his Prime Minister prior to the trip to ensure no one was going to bother him for a few days. He was not expecting any form of human contact, much less a visiting Nation.

Matthew stepped out of the front porch, dreading as he plodded towards the lake. Morning mist was giving way to a small motorized boat heading towards the makeshift moorage. Standing tall on the bow of the boat was his idiot of a brother, posturing as if he was in some blockbuster movie.

“This is friggin’ cold” were the first words came out of Alfred after he jumped on to the moorage. He was fully equipped for a summer beach party, from the bright coloured flamingo shirt to the blue flip-flops on his bare feet, and shuddered in the arctic breeze. “I swear it’s not even 50 degrees outside! Why come here, bro? Don’t you have enough winter as is?”

“I don’t recall sending you an invite,” Matthew replied dryly. He stood aside, showing a complete lack of excitement when Alfred hurried for a brotherly hug. The touch to the naked skin felt icy cold. Then the American immediately dashed for the door, throwing the leather duffle bag in Matthew’s open hands in the process.

“You’re welcome,” Matthew muttered, rolling his eyes. When he carried the bag into the cabin and set it by the chesterfield, his brother was already in the shower. Half an hour later, Alfred finally re-emerged, shamelessly wearing a pair of grey lounge pants and a light blue merino sweater he’d appropriated from Matthew’s closet.

“I used up all your hot water, by the way,” Alfred announced unapologetically, and went on to rummage Matthew’s fridge. “I’m famished. Got anything to feed me?” Not waiting for a response, he dug up a carton of eggs and a bag of bacons, and beamed.

How did this happen?

Matthew plopped himself down on the chesterfield, face buried in his hands, questioning his life. His quiet enjoyment and solitude was ripped asunder by the incessant yappings from the general direction of the stove. Alfred was complaining about the humid weather in Florida. _Crack_. An egg slid into the sizzling pan slathered with butter. Then he went on to comment the diary industry in California. _Crack_. So what about that half-marathon in Washington? _Crack_. Puerto Rico was about to have another statehood referendum. _Crack_. “And people still call you the 51st state.” _Crack_.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” Matthew abruptly dropped his hands, glaring.

“What?” Alfred glanced over, looking innocent. “You want some of my eggs? They are tasty, I promise. C’mon Mattie, if you want it, just say it. I’m nothing but generous.”

Matthew was, for a moment, speechless. These were _his_ eggs, taken out of _his_ fridge and cooked in _his_ cabin. But then again this was Alfred, who probably had a despicable plan of tariffing everything he could put his slimy fingers on. It was moot to argue with him.

Matthew huffed indignantly, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“How did you find me?”

“In case you weren’t aware, I got top-notch intelligence services.”

“So you spied on me.”

“Which was hardly a challenge. Your PM was more than happy to share your hideout when I told him you seem depressed and maybe borderline suicidal these days and I’d absolutely do my best to cheer you up, Scout’s honor.”

“D-did you just admit that you not only blatantly lied to my Prime Minister, but also aspersed my character?”

“And it would not have happened if you agreed to staying at my place. Whose fault is that, huh?”

“Screw you.”

Alfred moved the perfect sunny-side-up eggs to a clean plate and proceeded to drop bacons in the now empty hot pan.

“So let’s say you’re not depressed, but definitely moody. Playing hermit right before your birthday? Hiding out in the Arctic Circle, squandering the hot summer days when it’s already in limited supply north of the border? You got a problem, man. Out with it, have a heart-to-heart. Do whatever you need to take that hockey stick out of your skinny ass.”

Matthew was not sure whether he should feel touched or mortified. Probably both. It always made his heart flutter and warm and fuzzy when Alfred paid attention to him, but it also irked him whenever his brother assumed too much and decided to jump in and play the hero.

It’s the intention that counts. He made a mental note to himself, and heaved a sigh in defeat.

“Would you leave me alone if I assure you I am fine in all aspects?”

“Nope, you have to prove it first.”

The bacons (half a bag) were done. Alfred turned off the gas, moving the deliciously crispy slices into the same plate with the eggs. He looked very pleased with the hearty American breakfast he’d whipped up, which Matthew cordially declined, and happily inhaled the food in one go.

“What is it that you want to hear from me?” Matthew was desperately pushing for an answer. He was happy where he was, he said. This was just a short break, a weekend getaway, he said. He had a healthy level of self-esteem and no, he didn’t lose any hockey game to any Nations recently, and Ivan didn’t accidentally sit on him, again. He said.

But none of it satisfied Alfred.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Don’t exert yourself.” Matthew murmured.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“Alright, so I’ve been thinking. It’s been awhile since anything exciting happened to us. I mean really exciting. There was always somewhere to explore when we were younger. ‘What’s it like beyond the Appalachian Mountains,’ or ‘How far south can I go,’ or ‘If I dig a hole deep enough, will I pop out in China?’ Silly, I know, but it was curiosity that got me out of bed in the morning.”

Matthew hummed, unsure of where this conversation was heading. He glanced at Alfred, who was sitting side by side with him on the chesterfield, their long legs touching at the knees. It was close enough that Matthew could smell his own scents rolling off of his brother, who’d used his shampoo and was wearing his clothes.

He kind of liked it when Alfred smelled like a Canadian.

“Nowadays, it seems every piece of land has been mapped and owned and represented. Instead of exploring, we maintain the status quo. Keep everything as is, they say. That’s what we do. We go to those lengthy meetings, debate for hours and agree to disagree. Nothing productive comes out of it, calling for no changes. The status quo is therefore well maintained. Bosses are happy, and we keep playing this role day after day after day after—This is boring.” 

Then he said, “Life is boring.”

“So it is,” Matthew agreed. Yet he failed to see any downside of a “boring” life, if it meant peace and prosperity for his people. He was not a Super Power and never would be one. He lacked the disposition of becoming something great and powerful, an empire. But he knew what they were like, having lived with two and been neighbouring one all his life. They conquered and took. Always expanding, always exploiting. And when they stopped, or more than likely, were forced to stop, it would be going downhill from there.

He watched his brother, this time with caution.

Alfred seemed oblivious of Matthew’s concerned look. He was staring wistfully into the Polar Bear rug splayed across the hardwood floor in front of the unlit fireplace.

They stayed in silence for a little longer.

“So let me guess,” Matthew cleared his throat, “That’s why you were so adamant about ‘having fun’ at your place? Creating some sparks in the boring life? Working out the kinks?”

“You got the kink part right.” Alfred gave him a sly grin.

Matthew spluttered, face flushed all the way to the tip of his ears. He was not a prude, per se. He was just not expecting Alfred to be so...up front, considering.

“Had angry sex with Mexico a few days back,” Alfred continued casually, “Bitch got me some nasty scars on the back. Totally worth it, though. Would do it again 10/10.”

“Ok.” Matthew wasn’t sure what to say.

“Let’s do a threesome after the next NAFTA meeting?” Alfred suggested.

“Pass.”

“Seriously, bro? You don’t know what you’re gonna miss out on. She’s hotter than guajillo!”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’ve no problem sharing some intimate moments with a beautiful lady.” Matthew said, standing up from the chesterfield. This sex talk initiated by Alfred had begun to nag at him. “What wouldn’t work out here is us, you and me. I don’t intend to relive that disastrous experience, which we agreed never to speak of ever again.”

At that, Alfred was taken aback, looking more than embarrassed, and immediately got defensive, “So we were young and stupid, so what? It was more than a century ago!”

“But would it change your position?” Matthew asked levelly, folding arms across his chest. 

Alfred glared at him, and finally, “No.” 

“Thought so.”

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who’s interested, Portland International Beer Festival is held June 28 to 30 each year.


End file.
